


Bespoke

by macadamia_bara



Series: Take [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bratty Jaskier | Dandelion, Dirty Talk, Edgeplay, M/M, Open Relationships, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Slut Praising, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Topping from the Bottom, switcher time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24831292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macadamia_bara/pseuds/macadamia_bara
Summary: Jaskier only wants two things, and Geralt will give them to him:One, to be praised.Two, to be used.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Other(s)
Series: Take [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1868566
Comments: 15
Kudos: 190





	Bespoke

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a hell of a decade, huh?  
> Well, these two idiots got these old bones up and at 'em writing fic again. Enjoy.

_It’s not that you’re where I want you, it’s that you’re where you belong._

_―_

He’d missed this, but it wasn’t like Geralt had been counting down the days. He’s sure if he asked Jaskier he’d get an exact answer. 

_‘I have been starved of inspiration for thirty-seven weeks and twenty minutes, Geralt. I was already at the gates of the eighth stage of loss when you stumbled across my path. Yes, the eighth stage, the lesser known step after accepting your muse has gone and left you, perhaps even died, and you must acquire a new one.’_

Geralt just knew it’d been too long since he last had Jaskier beneath him. And despite the lack of new material for the thirty-odd weeks they were apart, Jaskier’s purse hung heavy. It afforded them a private room with a sturdy bed and new silk rope. 

_‘Brown.’_

_‘It’s puce. I was in mourning, Geralt.’_

Geralt never thought he’d be picky about the color of rope, and yet here he was. _It's a waste of coin. I already made us rope._ When he only had the patience to carefully peel Jaskier out of his doublet before ripping his silk undershirt into strips directly off his body. How it slowly revealed the furred stomach, the crest of hair that traveled from Jaskier’s navel to the thick patch on his chest. 

The tattered silk had been folded away with Geralt's spare tunic but Jaskier had been adamant about his supposed grieving, so Geralt bit his tongue through his bard’s theatrical guilt trip and used the brown. Bit his lips through Jaskier’s fussing over his messy hair as he concentrated on binding Jaskier's left arm to the bedpost.

“Hmm.” 

“Geralt,” Jaskier moved on from detangling his knots to petting his stubble. Geralt allowed Jaskier one pass of his thumb across his lips before snapping his teeth, a warning bite that pulled that thumb into his mouth for a suck and drag of teeth from knuckle to nail. “ _Geralt._ ”

He joked about Geralt's plethora of 'hmm's, but it always amazed Geralt how much Jaskier could say when he was just saying his name. 

“The oil, Jaskier.” Geralt straightened his back, settling his buttocks down on Jaskier’s thighs with a relaxed stretch. 

“The oil, right,” Jaskier’s performative grace had been stripped away with his clothes. "Now where did that roll off to?" He swung his arm across the bed in search of the jar only to have his fumbling push the oil further out of his reach. "Could use a spot of help here, if you haven't noticed." 

"Mmm," Geralt did not help. He was already preoccupied with spanning his hands across Jaskier's waist and tracing circles around his navel with his thumbs. "I noticed."

"Hah, typical," Jaskier tugged at the sheets until the oil finally fell within reach. Short of breath, but triumphant, he holds it above his head. Geralt spared a glance away from the patterns he'd been drawing into Jaskier's skin, but still spares no help. “Right, guess I’ll just‒” with one free hand, all Jaskier could do was uncork it with his teeth. 

“Hmm.” _Satisfying._ To watch Jaskier struggle with the task, to feel Jaskier’s core tense and flex beneath his hands. Geralt dug his fingers into the soft flesh until he hit the hidden wall of muscle, “That’s our last bottle,” and dragged his nails down. “Don’t spill it.” 

“Mmmh‒” Jaskier whined around the cork, his brows furrowing in such a way as to signal to Geralt that if he kept scraping those red welts down onto his thighs like that, he very much would spill the bottle. 

Once popped, the stale smell of the oil filled Geralt’s lungs. It was a utilitarian purchase, bought on the road after the incident where he had reached for his favored oil, the one in the blue bottle gifted to him by Yen, to discover that it had been returned to his pack empty. 

"Relax, Jaskier." Geralt lifted Jaskier's chin with a cupped palm and took in the hooded eyes. The flush starting to bloom from Jaskier’s cheeks down to his dusky nipples. Jaskier relaxed his jaw, parting his teeth and dropping the cork into Geralt’s waiting hand. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“H‒hey! Credit where credit's due,” Jaskier huffed. He was so, he looked so‒when he was angry. Geralt liked it, the pink of his face and the burning glint in his eyes as he puffed his fringe off his forehead. “Not all of us are practiced at ripping into potions with our teeth.” 

“Congratulations, you opened the oil.” 

“Oh ho ho, I love it when you get sassy with me.” Jaskier made to buck against the hands pinning him down, but froze at how that made their lubricant slosh. “Hurry and plug it, Geralt.” 

“Hmm. As you wish,” Geralt ignored the arm raising the bottle and pressed the cork back to Jaskier’s lips. 

“Pff, pff‒you know that’s not‒Geralt!” 

“Always with the tongue.” 

Jaskier smirked and continued to jab at Geralt’s knuckles with his tongue. 

“An age old tactic,” traced it across Geralt’s fingertips, “that has never failed me yet.” 

“I concede,” Geralt dropped the cork, letting it fall where it may as he bent over to breathe across Jaskier’s wet lips. “I wanted to hear you sing, anyways.” He let Jaskier lick into his mouth, just long enough for it to feel too short, to rip another whine out of Jaskier when he pulled away. His favorite song. 

"Not so filling-less now, huh?" It took Jaskier a moment to retort. 

Geralt nuzzled his nose along Jaskeir’s bridge. He meant to leave a dry peck against those wet lips, but he ended up kissing air instead. _Hmm._ He sat back on his haunches and raked his fingers through the thatch of hair at the base of Jaskier's cock. 

"Not yet." Geralt rumbled in that voice he knew would make Jaskier's dick twitch. And it did. Geralt pressed it to Jaskier's stomach and dared a dry run of his thumb from the base of the crown, along the underside of the shaft, softly tugging the foreskin to reveal his glands, down between Jaskier's bollocks. He toyed there for a moment more so he could listen to the uptake of Jaskier's heart, the intake of a quaking breath, before removing his hand and holding it out for Jaskier. “Pour.” 

Jaskier poured a bit too much.

"Hmm." 

"Don't you dare hmm at me," Jaskier barked weakly. "I didn't spill it." 

Geralt quirked an eyebrow as he fisted Jaskier's cock, the sloppy wet noises masking Jaskier's weak panting. Jaskier’s complexion reached new shades of ruddiness as all the excess oil oozed out from between Geralt's fingers and dribbled down. 

"You're right," Geralt released Jaskier's cock and watched it bob as he combed the slick through Jaskier's pubic hair, rubbed it into the crease of his thighs. He was still dripping with it. "You did well." 

" _Geralt._ "

"Jaskier. You're so wet and messy," the _for me_ was left implied as Geralt continued to stroke his slick thighs, ignoring Jaskier's cries for him to get back to touching his dick, god, no, come back, Geralt. "Mmm, already singing," _For me_ . "Will you keep being good?" _For me._

"Yes, so good. So just, Geralt‒"

"Yet so easily you forget." 

"I didn't forget, I‒" he was silenced with a kiss as his arm is guided back from a tilted position, Geralt wrapping his hand around Jaskier's, straightening their lubricant just moments before it tilts and spills its contents completely. 

"Don't make me regret uncorking you." 

"Mmm, no, come back, Geralt, I didn't forget, but please, you've yet to even kiss me properly. With tongue! You have to want to‒ _mmph._ " Another kiss to shut him up, but only because Geralt really did want to feel him fucking into his mouth like that. 

It always felt unreal, kissing Jaskier like this, like a man starved. It's unreal how he's the mutant, his body altered and slow hearted to withstand being breathless for ages‒and yet he's the one who pulled away first. Panting. Just to put space between them for a moment.

Jaskier flashed an open mouth smirk as he licked across his teeth, his whole body radiating satisfaction. 

"I need you to behave," Geralt growled as he crawled up Jaskier’s body. 

_He needed to behave so Geralt won’t_ _‒_ _he still had to_ _‒_

"Jaskier,” Had to pull away to straighten Jaskier’s arm again, but let the kissing linger on. “Last bottle," scored his nails down Jaskier’s chest, sucked down Jaskier’s humid pants as nails scraped over nipples, had to pull away or he’d‒they’d never stop kissing. _To truly give me what I want, let me stay lost in you like this._ "Don't go spilling it before," Geralt went from arching into those lips to dropping his chest down and rolling his hips up, presenting himself **,** "I'm prepared for your bratty cock."

“Well,” Jaskier released a shaky, breathy laugh into Geralt’s neck. “My cock has been called many things, but bratty is a first.”

“Bratty, like the rest of you.” Reaching behind him, Geralt wrapped his fingers back around that cock, loosely fisting down to the base where oil still pooled in the dips of Jaskier’s hips. He was going to enjoy this, finally being able to go at a languid pace, tuning out Jaskier’s complaints about visibly aging with how long Geralt takes to prep. _I know time flows differently for you surly immortals, but Melitele's tits! You better fuck me before the leaves start dropping unless you’re planning to winter in my arsehole, Geralt._ Brat. 

He took his time as he ran his palm up and down Jaskier’s dick, oily fingers trailing up the thick vein to the wet head. Enjoyed the heft and heat of it as he positioned himself to straddle Jaskier’s waist so he could more easily nestle it along the cleft of his buttocks. 

The directed grinding and sliding of Jaskier’s prick between his cheeks wasn’t to tortue or tease, despite the colorful complaints that poured from the bitten lips beneath him, but to find the best angle for bowing his back into the impact as he slapped it across his ass. 

“And yet‒ah, you’re the one being spanked, ah, Geralt!” 

_He’s the one being tortured_. Geralt bit into the flesh of Jaskier’s bound wrist to gag himself before he could confess to such thoughts as he continued to spank himself with that fat cock. Licked across the marks his teeth left as he rutted his own leaking and wet dick along Jaskier’s stomach. 

“Oil, Jaskier,” he tried to swallow away the pleading inflection of his voice as he yanked Jaskier’s hand away from his front and growled “No, not‒here.” repositioned Jaskier’s arm until he felt the bottle’s lip press into his buttocks’ cleavage. “ _Pour_.”

He wants, he wants it just like this. Sloppy and unrehearsed, Jaskier against him, between him, in him. He couldn’t, couldn’t decide, couldn’t stop from running that fat cockhead against his hole, down the river of lubricant spilling down his taint and between his balls. But he could, he could finish just like this, take the edge off from just rubbing off against Jaskier’s dick like it was his polished and slicked up toy as he watched Jaskier mask his bite marks with his own as he sang into his fist. _He wanted‒_

“More,” and Jaskier poured more as Geralt started to stretch himself in earnest, shifted his weight so he could lean in and kiss along Jaskier’s neck, breath him in as he added another. “More, Jaskier, I need‒” 

“ _Fuck,_ Geralt.” Jaskier tipped the bottle, splattering the remnants of the oil across the small of Geralt’s back before tossing it aside. “I can, let me, let me be good for you, I’ll‒” slipped those talented fingers through all the slick and sweat wetting his skin until they joined Geralt’s. “Gods, needy, hah‒ I can feel your needy hole trying to suck me in.” 

He could, he could come just like this, their joint fingers fucking him open like this. _Give me more, give me everything._ Jaskier was going to wreck him before he could even ride him. 

“Shh‒shit, your hands, Jaskier.” Geralt was too close to the edge, with a white knuckled iron grip around Jaskier’s arm he pulled those fingers out, guiding them back in at a slower pace, a truly torturous pace. Slow and sweet and slick. 

“Please, just let me,” Jaskier sobbed, no longer fighting against the urge to rut his hips up into that ass as he struggled against his restraints for the first time. Wrangled against Geralt's hold keeping him from milking that sweet spot. 

"You're so good for me, too good. Gods, what your fingers do to me." Geralt wanted to pin those wild hips to the mattress, but he didn't want to lose any more leverage as he ground back on Jaskier's fingers, rocking his hips in nonsensical patterns. 

_Fuck, they're so long._

They could be doing so much more, but it's about what he wants. He wants to be filled, wants to release the iron grip he has on Jaskier's wrist so he could slide his own fingers in alongside Jaskier's, but then he'd had to forfeit this. This slow savoring of having Jaskier drive him mad just like this. 

"Fuck, Geralt."

"Let me have this, I want‒" He felt breathless, how could he have the oxygen to babble. He needs this, the slow glide and press of Jaskier's fingers against that spot inside him. "So long, reach inside me so deep."

So deep, the pleasure rolled over him like a tide pulling him under. Geralt had to yank Jaskier's fingers away before he got caught it in, the crashing waves. _Fuck but he could have drowned in it_. 

Geralt pulled Jaskier's fingers out, but Jaskier set the pace as he teased them up and down Geralt's taint.

Too close to the edge, he wasn't ready to tip over. Geralt didn't have to say it, couldn't say it with the way he was biting his lips, but somehow Jaskier always knew how to read him like an open book. _Open, hah, so open._ Thighs spread, buttocks up, his hole sloppy with oil, filling the room with the wet noise of Jaskier's fingers fucking into him. He is never more open than this, open and bare beneath Jaskier's heated looks. Those hooded eyes that saw right through him.

"Geralt, darling, mon loup, don't fight it. You _have_ me." 

"Jask, I‒" Geralt threw his head back as his spine snapped straight, his free hand falling to the mattress behind him to keep balance as he directed Jaskier's hand back inside. In _deep_. Fuck, Jaskier knew just how to play him. How to tease and stretch and work Geralt until he could feel Jaskier's fourth finger start to catch on his hole. "Don't stop." 

If Jaskier still had the ability to control his lungs he'd laugh. Nothing could stop him now. Not even Geralt, whose grip on his wrist was less of a hold and more of a digging of nails along the flesh of his forearm. 

Jaskier could, with this slip of freedom‒he swiped his thumb along Geralt's taint, kneaded the meat of his arse as he dragged his thumb down to the ring of muscle now stretched enough to take four of his fingers. 

_"Hmm, fuck. Jaskier!"_

Jaskier felt it, the tell‒tale clamp and convulsions of Geralt's muscles, the hot splurt of ejaculate landing across his chest, gods, all the way to his neck and jaw. He expected to feel that iron hold once more, pulling his hand away, but instead Geralt held him there, kept Jaskier's hand still as he fucking danced atop him, rocking his hips to a silent tune, chasing the pleasure until a second orgasm washed over him. 

Geralt, as succinct as ever, came wordlessly, eyes clenched shut as ragged grunts escaped his slack jaw with every weak remaining spurt of his spent cock. He looked _wrecked_. Geralt released Jaskier's wrist to take hold of his dick. And. Sat. 

"Ffff‒" Jaskier couldn't even find the wind to finish the expletive. 

"Ah, shit," Geralt blindly reached for Jaskier's hand, didn't so much as find it as felt Jaskier clasp and twine their fingers together. He opened his eyes and had to look away from the look Jaskier was giving him. "Fuck, Jaskier, I‒" 

"Yes, anything."

Geralt bent down to kiss Jaskier wetly, open‒mouthed and panting he kissed Jaskier through the remaining aftershocks of his orgasm, led Jaskier's hand to his heaving gut, directed those fingers to wrap around the base of his cock. Tight. 

And then it's only Jaskier's fingers locked around Geralt's dick, cutting off the last of the ecjaulate being weakly squeezed out by Geralt's flushed purple cockhead.

"Don't‒don't let me, ah, until I say." Geralt pleaded between kisses too gentle and feather light for the hunger they both felt. 

"Anything, love." 

Geralt reached out for Jaskier's bound hand as he worked himself back up at that agonizingly slow pace, tuning out Jaskier's whines and complaints by focusing entirely on the rhythm of his erratic heart beat, the rattling of his lungs. 

"Next time, I want‒" 

"Yes."

"I want both." 

" _Yes._ " 

"I'll bind you so I can, hmm." 

"Geralt, _please_." 

"So I can have your hands and your _bratty_ cock at the same time." 

" _Please_." 

"I've never been so‒" _Greedy_ , Geralt kept to himself. "So ‒ ah! Hmm, Jaskier." Geralt halted the swaying of his hips to just. Feel. _Full_ . He was so full, but he wanted more. "You make me _want_." 

"Then take," Jaskier hissed and tossed, too hot and weak to fight the weight that pinned him down. "Take everything I can give, my love." 

"Don't." 

"Mon loup." 

" _Jask_." 

"Geralt!" Jaskier's bound hand twitched and curled into a fist as Geralt started up another slow roll of his hips. Slow, lazy rolls, circling smaller and smaller to another torturous pause that ripped a low, feral whine out of Jaskier. 

"Greedy," Geralt confessed for the both of them as he reached behind himself, down the crease of his buttocks to feel where they joined. 

"Take me," Jaskier all but begged. "Geralt, please, I‒"

Geralt took Jaskier's bound hand in his other hand, let Jaskier's long fingers curl back between his own and held him just as tightly back. They held hands like that as Geralt petted Jaskier's stomach, Jaskier not loosening his hold on Geralt's cock.

"I thought about this. About you." Geralt combed his fingers through Jaskier's chest hair, now damp with sweat, squeezed the soft padding of his pectoral. Felt the hurried fluttering of his heart, felt it as surely as if Geralt had caught a bird in his grasp.

"Forty weeks, hah! Long time to pine." Jaskier bit his swollen lips as nails scraped across his nipples, he squeezed tighter around Geralt's cock as they kept scraping lower. 

"Thought, hmm, thought about your thick cock as I fingered myself." 

"Fuck me, Geralt‒" 

"Thought about who you were fucking, if you were fucking them as thoroughly as I fucked myself on my wooden cock, wishing it was you." Geralt's hips slowed to a stop, he wanted to bask in the longing Jaskier's eyes were radiating as they looked up at him. "How many, Jaskier? How many barmaids did you take to bed?" 

Jaskier didn't answer, just moaned through clenched teeth.

"Did they ask you to be tender? Or did you fuck them hard? Make them scream? Hmm. Fucked them sweet and rough, filled them to the brim, didn’t you? Best they’ll get, that thick dick of yours." Geralt started to cant his hips again. "How, how many stable hands and lordlings did you get to sing on your cock?" 

"None, ha, none that sang as pretty as you, my heart." 

Geralt pinched Jaskier's nipple at the obvious lie. But oh, Jaskier did sing so prettily at that. 

"I'd get off, twice as slow as this," Opposite to his words Geralt accelerated the rhythm of their fucking. "Picturing what spoiled countess you were bringing to tears with that big mouth of yours." 

"This _big_ mouth received nothing but praise." 

"Mmm," Geralt nearly pulled off Jaskier's dick, then slammed back down, "Imagined her breathless, demanding an encore. Thought of soft hands tearing apart sheets, merciless against that mouth of yours, so lost in the pleasure." Like how Geralt felt when Jaskier took him apart with the tip of his tongue. 

Greedy, so greedy. Here Geralt sat balls deep, full of Jaskier's cock and he couldn't help but want more. He wanted that mouth, had for months.

"Love your fanciful fabrication, my dear Witcher, but sadly most Countesses aren't as skilled at tearing as‒fuck! Don't, hah, don't stop, no no no, Geralt, please!" 

“Did you satisfy her?” Geralt hissed as he curbed his slamming to a rocking grind so he could rip another high note from his bard **.** “Fuck, insatisifiable, aren’t you.” Teased his thumb between those tempting lips, which Jaskier instantly sucked into that moist trap of a mouth. A trap Geralt never wanted to leave. “So good, always so good.” 

When did Geralt learn to read minds, because as he petted that hot tongue with his thumb, the heavy hooded eyes that looked back at him clearly communicated what Jaskier couldn't say as he suckled wetly, loudly. Could hear it in his musical tilt, overly performative so one could not see the kernel of truth hidden in the sass. 

_I’m but a humble bard that lives to serve._

Whatever look Geralt was sending back, Jaskier must have read just as easily for the hand on his cock squeezed that tad bit tighter as Geralt really started to fuck his thumb into Jaskier’s mouth. 

“Been so good for me, haven’t you?” 

Jaskier’s eyes clenched shut at that, but he nodded until Geralt removed his thumb to cup his cheek. Still, that greedy mouth kissed and licked until it drew Geralt’s small finger back into it’s trap. 

“Fuck, Jaskier.” Geralt eased out and pushed another finger into that plush mouth. “Have you no limit?” When did Geralt get so breathless? 

“Hmmhmm,” Jaskier shook his head until Geralt pulled back to brush away the sweaty fringe from Jaskier’s eyes. “Geralt, _please_. Fuck me, fuck, it’s been too‒” Jaskier couldn’t finish that thought as Geralt pulled him up, pulled against his binds to kiss earnestly. 

“This is what you wanted.” Geralt growled into Jaskier’s neck as he started to lift and drop, really riding the thick cock he idolized so. 

“You, ah, you know‒” Jaskier moaned as his neck was bitten and kissed, as strong fingers tangled into his sodden locks, losing his train of thought as he sang _you, you, you_ in raising octaves. The grip on his hair tightened as Geralt picked up the pace, head thrown back and spine arched as he really fucked himself down on that dick. 

_I want you to use me, Geralt._

So Geralt did, chased his pleasure as he took in Jaskier in the flesh. Try as he might, his imagination could never compare to this, to the blotch of mottled pink hiding beneath that pelt of chest hair. The slick sheen of his lips, the dazed look of his eyes, the soft swell of the bicep of his bound arm. The contrast of the smooth, intimate vignettes of hairless skin **,** exposed and inviting, across Jaskier's hirsute body. The hair matted with Geralt's spend. 

_I want you to praise me._

"I haven't, hah, been this full," Geralt gasped, having found that perfect angle to rock and rut and stir the molten tide in the pit of his abdomen. "Since the last time you fucked me." 

" _Geralt_."

"Fuck, Jaskier, you're just," Geralt wasn't good at this. He was running out of words. His only focus was on diving towards that pinprick of fire every time Jaskier's cock pressed just right inside him. "Fuck! You're‒" Beautiful. Here. _Mine._ " _‒your cock_."

His fantasies could never consume him the way Jaskier seemed to, the way his breath and moans mixed with the rapid beating of his heart, the hot rushing of blood blocking out any other noise. The scent of his musk, the taste of him. 

God, Geralt wanted to go back to kissing him, but he couldn’t lose this angle, this constant pressure on that nerve inside him that melted his witcher focus into mist. Until everything was just _them._

"Ah, Geralt! _"_ Jaskier was a wild thing beneath him, blood rushing and veins popping along his neck and arms as he strained to thrust up into Geralt. " _Please,_ I can't, I‒"

"Mmm," Geralt spanned his hands almost all the way around that tender flesh beneath Jaskier's ribs and held tight. His thighs clenched, every muscle pulled taut like his body was innately trying to pull and suck even more of Jaskier's hot prick inside of him. Geralt wanted. He wanted to know just how much of Jaskier he could take, he could have. 

Jaskier was close, Geralt could hear the cantering spikes of his rhythms. The hitch in his lungs as he gulped between moans and how his racing heartbeat reverberated down to his quaking hips. By now Geralt could _taste_ the sharp tang of his sweat at the base of his tongue, as if he had taken Jaskier with his own mouth. 

"Geralt, I‒" A throaty, guttural plee from Jaskier. It was in the same voice Jaskier got after a full night's performance, and it always shot hot spikes of affection straight through Geralt's chest like a dart. But as much as Geralt wished to hear just how fucked out his bard was, Jaskier was nearly breathless, unable to string his words together. All he could muster was repeating Geralt's name like a mantra, a prayer. "Geralt, please, Ger‒fuh. Fuck, Geralt!" 

"Hmm," Geralt slid a hand up to cup Jaskier's cheek. He bent to give that panting temptation of a mouth a kiss. He could deny himself the pleasure of fucking Jaskier's mouth and cock in tandem no longer. He continued until Jaskier's lips were too sloppy and uncoordinated to kiss back. "Come on, Jask." 

"Yes, yes, please, Geralt, hah." 

"Sing for me, Jaskier." 

"Ah! Fuck me, fuck, Geralt!" 

"You're my barker, aren't you? Sing louder." 

"Fuck, I can't, ah, Geralt! Please! Fu‒uu‒uck me. Harder! Yes, _yes_!"

"Sing and let the inn‒ _fuck_ _‒_ let this whole fucking hamlet know how well you're being fucked by your witcher." 

"Hah, harder, ah! Oh, fuck, Geralt of Riv‒ah‒ahh‒of! Oh FUCK! YES!" 

Geralt had to clamp down on the loose fist on his cock to fight back his own release at the sinful siren's song taking hold of him, wrapping him in that raspy moan of Jaskier's that raised goose pimples along his heated flesh.

"Do it, fill me up‒ahhh, fill me up, Jaskier." 

And for once Jaskier listened to Geralt's command, his spine arched like a drawn bow as he came, chest shaking. Jaskier bit his bound fist through the aftershocks as Geralt coaxed more and more of his ejaculate out with a controlled, needy pulsing of his sphincter. 

"Ah, ah, _Geralt_."

"So good, Jaskier, so," Geralt kissed along his nose, his fist, licked his palm and wrist and mouth as he kept rocking his hips through Jaskier's orgasm. Slow, calculated rolls to keep Jaskier's softening cock inside him. "Fuck, you're so good for me, look at you." 

Geralt took Jaskier in like a starved man at a feast. Catalogued every bite mark, scratch, and bruise he made on this precious, fragile human who trusted him to do so, trusted him to tie him up and fuck him through his tears, to keep fucking him through his hypersensity because Geralt _wants_ . _Wants to sit and warm his cock until he was ready to fuck Geralt again._

"Geralt, fuck, Ger," Jaskier had the same winded, breathless quality as if the Djinn's chokehold was back.

Geralt pulled back to give Jaskier space, counted down and listened for Jaskier's word. Five, four, three heart beats. Jaskier didn't speak, his head rolled across the headboard until he caught Geralt's eye. Two, one. Jaskier nodded, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth as his hips gave one last feeble thrust up. 

"Fuck, so full, still‒I‒more. Jaskier, I want."

"Yes, my heart?" Jaskier looked dazed as he watched Geralt tug at his own nipples.

"Mmm, Jaskier," _Please_. Geralt had him, finally had him. Jaskier should be the one pulling him down by his medallion, demanding more kisses. 

It should be Jaskier's skilled fingers teasing and pawing at his chest. 

"For you, anything." Fuck but Jaskier looked smug, slowly batting his eyelashes with his heavy bedroom eyes, squeezing Geralt's cock like a vice like that. "But I can't do that." One eyebrow arched as his left shoulder ticked up to remind Geralt how trapped and useless he was. 

"Hmm," Geralt forgot the rules of his own damn game, "fuck." He'd wanted to push both of them to their limits, wanted them to tumble over that precipice together, but he was teetering perilously close to that edge while Jaskier basked boneless and content beneath him, his cock not even half hard again in Geralt's ass. " _Fuck_." 

"You know‒"

"Hnnn." 

" _You know_ ," Jaskier continued, head rolled back to resting on his shoulder. "This was not what I envisioned when making my request." 

Gerat huffed a grunt. 

"Not a complaint, my heart. Fuck, your arse drained me better than any milkmaid." His thighs gave another weak twitch when Geralt instinctively clenched at the praise. "I thought‒stop that smirking, Geralt‒ as lovely as that was, _is_ , my gods, was it lovely, Geralt‒ do you remember?" 

"Hmm."

"That estate in Sodden with the‒" 

"High ceilings." Geralt remembered. 

"Yes," Jaskier's eyes got a glossy sheen to them. 

"Mmm." Geralt swallowed thickly, as if he could draw up the taste of Jaskier on his tongue from memory alone. "I remember you being a damn tease."

"One could say it was more of a calculated seduction…" 

"You stripped as you danced across the tabletops." 

"The perfect gambit." 

"I remember the wine was shit, and you were‒" 

"Divine, delectable, simply the most superb thing you have ever tasted." 

"Mm, musky, salty. And possibly‒" he licked his teeth "the best thing I ever tasted." 

"Don't spoil the romance, Geralt." 

"Hm."

"You'd never, not like that, I mean," Geralt could feel Jaskier's cock fattening up inside him at the memory, "it's so rarely you take for yourself. And that night, you captured me in your grasp and took‒" 

Suddenly Geralt's arms felt too empty without the weight of Jaskier to fill them. 

"Fuck, Jaskier‒"

"You're too," Jaskier gave a shake of his shoulders, his body instinctually trying to wave his arms but couldn't with his hands preoccupied as they were. "Too _you_ . Too noble, too valiant to take what you want, unless offered explicitly, and Geralt, you have my explicit consent to _take_." 

He doesn't know how, but hearing Jaskier's plea in that honey-thick voice of his made Geralt's blood burn even hotter. 

"Jaskier." 

"I know, Geralt, I know you, I know. I'm offering." 

"Jask‒" How could he know? That he wished the weather had thawed more. Because fuck this inn, they could be outside, Geralt's lungs filled with campfire smoke and new spring forest growth and Jaskier‒

"I know, I know." 

Moss under his knees, dirt under his nails as he clawed at the ground as Jaskier took him from behind, dragging Geralt back against his cock, howling his release‒

"You've already been so good for me, love‒"

"Hah, fuck!"

"You gave me everything I asked for, it's your turn. Let me," Jaskier's words spilled down his back like a coastal breeze, a cool balm that left shivers in wake. Revealing just how flushed and heated Geralt's skin was, is. "You can have me, Geralt, take this _wicked_ mouth, let me eat you out, hah, I've got the coin, love, tear the bed apart as I‒" 

"Big‒" 

"Hmm, darling?"

"That _big_ , bratty mouth of yours, I'll have it‒" 

"It's your's‒" 

"Jask‒" The thought of it, of Jaskier's clean shaven face between his thighs, his buttocks, against his bollocks, "Fuck, Jaskier." Geralt could feel them, the ghosts of Jaskier's fingers in him, running down his hips, tangled in his hair, his phantom thighs from that night in Sodden hugging Geralt's ears, his body craving that memory of tender flesh sliding across his stubble. He wanted that again, he wanted that for himself. 

"Are you picturing it, my heart? Your encore?" Jaskier's fist loosened and clenched on Geralt's dick, not breaking the rules of being Geralt's cock ring by the slightest of technicalities. 

"Fucking brat‒" 

"Your brat, and fuck, Geralt, your seat, if, fuck, yessss, fuck, yes, _please,_ let me worship you. I throw myself before your alabaster altar and wish to be crushed‒nay, sacrificed‒ to the most perfect pair of thighs‒" 

"If it gets you to shut up." 

"Hah! You had your chance, but you like it. Like my voice, don't you, Geralt?" 

"Like your mouth," fuck, Geralt winched at how pathetic that sounded, but the way Jaskier's gaze darkened showed it wasn't as much of a mistep as he thought. "Mm, Jaskier‒"

"Tell me, anything you‒tell me what you want, ah!" Jaskier bit into the meat of his bound arm as Geralt took advantage of the fully awakened erection in his ass, raising and falling and fucking himself to some unknown rhythm cursing through them, binding them into a single note of pleasure. 

"Hmm," his eyes closed, and before him was the Countess's bed, but it was Jaskier sprawled out across satin sheets, merciless beneath Geralt. No, what he wanted… he wanted this... Jaskier bound, so he could crawl up that body, already caked with his mess, wanted to mark him as _his_. 

Let the come drip out his hole, down his thighs, onto Jaskier's chest. Add his own come to it. Rub off against Jaskier's pecs, before using his mouth. Sit on his face, make him clean up his mess. And kiss him, and taste himself, and then take Jaskier in his mouth and take him. _Take all of him, taste all of them._

Jaskier's deep groan cut through the fog of Geralt's mind, his gut lurching as if he'd fallen through a portal into the depths of a storming ocean. He could hear Jaskier asking him, pleading for Geralt to reveal what fantasy consumed him so, could smell the stale oil mixed with the heady scent of Jaskier's cum getting fucked out of his hole, could hear a drunk vomiting into a ditch, the scurrying of pantry mice, the _drip drip drip_ of spilled ale, and then just as suddenly, with a rough tug of his fist Jaskier was pulling him back to their bed, their inn in their haven oasis, halfway between Oxenfurt and Kaer Morhen. 

"Wherever you went, wherever you're going, not, you can't without me," Jaskier was panting, too pinned down by Geralt's weight to effectively thrust up into his tight clenching heat, but trying still. 

"Jaskier, fuck‒" 

"Am trying‒"

"Mmm," Geralt heard Jaskier's plees, his praises, but he strained for that sense of unfocused pleasure, so lost in chasing that dripping pool of pleasure in his gut, the fullness feeling, Jaskier inside him. He trailed a hand down his chest, across his nipple, to his stomach, pressed in as if he could really feel how full he was, could feel how well Jaskier's cock filled him. 

"Geralt!" Geralt involuntary bucked, thighs quivering with the strain of riding Jaskier to the brink and back, waiting for Jaskier, holding himself back for too long, he needed, he had to‒

" _Jaskier_ ," he tapped out, lowering his hand from his stomach to his groin, tugging at Jaskier's wrist. "Jask, I‒" As soon as Jaskier released his cock he came across Jaskier a third time. And he's dropping back through that portal, from one ocean to the next, he can feel it, feel everything. Jaskier, so deep in him, speared through his heart, through his throat. "Hah, hmm, fuck, don't go‒" their fingers tangled together around his cock, milking the last of his orgasm out to Geralt's wordless plees, until Geralt slumped forward against the headboard, the only noise their stuttered breathes and the obscene squelch of Jaskier's spent dick slipping from Geralt's hole. "Mmm."

Geralt wanted _this_ , their shared pants in blessed silence, Jaskier too boneless to disturb the peace. Jaskier's eyes were closed, lips wet and open, so Geralt kissed him. Kissed him as he combed his fringe back, kissed his neck, his shoulder, his wrist. _Yes, this_ , Geralt thought as he took his time freeing Jaskier, his fingers too drugged and sex clumsy to think the knot through. 

Their bodies twined together, drying sweat and come sticking them together, hearts slowing to their off tempo duet.

It was Jaskier's turn to brush Geralt's hair from his face, behind his ear. Jaskier's lips kissing along Geralt's neck, whispering "I'll see to getting a bath drawn, get us washed." Jaskier's teeth finally sinking into his flesh, a promise. "Then we'll see to that encore." 

"Mmm." 

**Author's Note:**

> Special shout-out to all my pals, who held my hand the whole way through this ordeal, as well as putting up with my inability to just use search engines for answers. You're the true heroes.
> 
> ― 
> 
> I―I―I need you more than anyone, baby  
> You know that I have from the start  
> So build me up (build me up) buttercup  
> You have my heart
> 
> ty&ilu


End file.
